


A Little More

by dornessiti



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Tumblr Gift, i am SOFT and GAY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:55:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornessiti/pseuds/dornessiti
Summary: Jaskier gets caught trying on Geralt’s armor
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 835





	A Little More

**Author's Note:**

> If people like this enough, I’ll publish a second chapter with smut buuuuuuut heres the finished result of my gift to celestialvoid-fanfiction on tumblr! 
> 
> I couldn’t have done it without the help of so many people but especially the-oncoming-glowcloud who screamed with me about each part of this, thank you~

“Geralt! H-Hello there! You’re looking very...angry today!” Jaskier, now turning a very interesting shade of red, pauses in his desperate attempt to undo the buckles holding the greeves- Geralt’s greeves- in place. “Have I told you recently how much I value our friendship? As well as my life?”

Angry is...not the word he would use. 

Geralt is frozen in place, unable to focus on anything but the current image before him; Jaskier has smaller pieces of Geralt’s steel armor already fastened from the waist down, but he hadn’t quite managed to fully attach the dark, studded leather straps that are intended to cross the chest, leaving them hanging by his sides. 

_His_ leathers.

_Jaskier is wearing his leathers._

He tells himself that with their difference in size it should look ridiculous, but his cursed eyes betray him by locking on to the place where the straps rest just past the other man’s hips. They only serve to emphasize the solid lines of his thin frame, his sharp waist, his surprisingly muscular thighs, his-

No. 

Geralt drags his eyes away and forces himself to take a deep breath while crossing the remaining distance between them. He grabs two fistfuls of the shirt and forces the bard to walk backwards until the cold stone wall of their inn room is pressed flush against the smaller man’s back. “What. Were you thinking.”

It isn’t a question, so much as a demand. 

“I-I only meant to admire it for a teensy moment, I swear, Geralt! But I’ve written so many ballads dedicated to knights and princes and soldiers, which you would _know_ if you came to my performances more often-” A low growl has him hurrying to move on. “Which! Is not the point! The point is…the point...”

“The point?” Geralt repeats impatiently. 

“The point is that-that I wanted to- well, you know, I thought I might look a bit...heroic.” Jaskier finishes weakly, pointedly facing away.

The witcher huffs without thinking, but the noise only serves to deflate the bard. Even without his enhanced senses, Geralt can almost physically see the embarrassment and disappointment rolling off of the other man in waves, and for once it is he that must hurry to correct himself. 

“Wait, you…” He looks up and silently struggles to find the right words. “You look...nice.” 

Jaskier’s head snaps up in surprise. “Nice?” 

“Very...good.” He grimaces.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Geralt, I admit it was a foolish idea.” He sighs dramatically, shoving away with some effort before the witcher tugs him back again by the still-loose leather straps until they’re standing even closer than before.

The tension that falls over them now is tangible.

“Why would I lie?” His voice comes out far rougher than he would have liked, and it cuts through the air like a blade. 

Jaskier swallows and those wide, blue eyes stare up at him as if hunting for the answer. It’s enough to make him want to leave the room altogether. “Right...why would you?” 

“Jaskier…” He warns.

“Tell me how I look, Geralt.” The voice he uses now is different than the one he saves for his songs. It isn’t sweet or full of laughter. It isn’t trying to convince anyone that great deeds were done or of far off, impossible battles. There’s no one in the room besides Geralt, and at the moment, this voice is telling him to answer with the same quiet force of the sea as it crashes over everything in its path. 

Its a voice that pulls at something low in his stomach and simply _takes._

“You look…” He sways forward, resting his forehead against the other’s, “...better than heroic... _more._ I’m not- good at this like you, I don’t-” 

“It’s alright.” He cuts him off. “You don’t have to be.” 

And then the bard is moving for the both of them, tilting his head up until their lips catch in a kiss that’s so gentle it scares him. Geralt’s heart beat, usually close to death in speed, is pounding painfully in his chest, and it’s in that second that he decides to let himself have this- to let himself _feel_ this. 

He gives in and lifts Jaskier with ease by the back of his thighs, fighting not to smile at the small noise of surprise it draws out of the other. 

He’s imagined this before; at the end of long days traveling, when they’ve set up camp somewhere and Jaskier has already fallen asleep next to the warm glow of their fire, he’s thought about what would happen if he’d gotten the courage to pull him over to his own bedroll instead. 

In his head, it would be frantic and rough. All biting teeth and hands digging in wherever they can reach. That’s what everyone wants from a witcher- it’s what they expect. 

But kissing Jaskier is like taking a deep breath after being asleep for a very long time. 

Soft gasps fill the room and carefully- _very carefully_ \- the bard cups Geralt’s face between his hands as if he’s the most valuable thing in the world. 

He tries to be just as gentle.

It’s difficult, unfamiliar, but he likes it. He likes the way Jaskier melts against him when he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip. Likes the way he tastes like the rose cakes he charmed from the innkeeper's wife with a song. Likes the way he laughs just a little when Geralt presses light kisses along his throat. 

Then all of a sudden, a terrible realization crashes into him just as violently as a rock troll; 

_This doesn’t mean anything._

He’s done this with countless others- quite famously, if his own songs hold any truth to them. 

It shouldn’t bother him, not when he’s frequented plenty of brothels himself, but it does. Geralt has mostly paid for company, while Jaskier leaves armies of broken hearts behind on their travels. 

He forces himself to pull away and tries to ignore the confused look on the other’s face as he sets him back on the ground. 

It doesn’t hurt. It shouldn’t hurt. He repeats it in his head like a mantra while trying to escape the room.

“G-Geralt!” Jaskier tries to follow him, but crashes to the ground with a yelp while tripping over the large boots still on his feet. 

Geralt groans, but turns around anyway to lift him from the ground in one swift movement. Then, just as soon as he’s righted, he turns to leave once more.

“Wait, why did you- Where are you going?” He demands.

“I’m going, I thought that was obvious.” 

“Yes, but you can’t- you can’t kiss me like that and just leave!” 

“We don’t need to talk about this. In fact, we don’t need to talk at all. I can leave you some coin, you can find your way to any part of the Continent you’d like.” Geralt keeps his golden eyes trained on the ceiling, waiting for some teasing response. 

Instead, two arms wrap themselves firmly around his middle from behind, and he’s almost sure that Jaskier is smooshing his face against his back, because his voice sounds slightly muffled when he does speak. “The only place on the Continent I want to be is right here in this room with you. And if I did something wrong or-or made you uncomfortable with my...feelings, I promise we don’t have to speak of them again! But don’t leave, Geralt. Please. Or else I’ll be forced to hold you here forever, and that would get quite boring, I imagine.” 

They both know that Geralt could easily throw Jaskier across the room if he wanted to, but something the bard said makes him pause. “Feelings?”

The bard groans. “Please don’t laugh at me, I could _not_ handle that at the moment. Yes, feelings! As in, the feelings I have for you! The ones that I have been making clear for months now. It’s why I just had what I would describe as the best kiss of my life, one that you very rudely interrupted only moments ago.” 

Geralt tamps down a smirk and tries to keep the amusement out of his voice. “You have feelings. For me. And you thought that I knew somehow?”

“Of course you knew! I sang you love songs nearly every night!”

“I thought you were trying to convince me to kill you.”

“But I picked you flowers!”

“You brought me herbs for potions. Usually the wrong ones.” 

“It is the thought that counts!” His voice is comically outraged at this point, which is the only reason that Geralt finally gives in and turns around in his arms to face him. Jaskier’s angry face softens immediately and his hold tightens. “This is the part where you’re supposed to either admit you care for me as well or you chop my head off and feed it to Roach.”

“I’m not going to chop your head off.” He shrugs. “Roach prefers apples.”

“Geralt!”

“I’m not going to chop your head off...and I...liked it when you sang to me.” Geralt mutters, already imagining how insufferable Jaskier will be now that he’s admitted it. 

“I knew it! I knew you were a fan of my songs! I shall write an entirely new ballad of how the White Wolf himself fell under the spell of a wonderously talented bard-” 

Geralt cuts him off with a kiss.


End file.
